Albany
by gottalovett
Summary: A Possible 9.8 scenario. Not big on spoilers as I havn't been reading any for 9.8. Lucas holds Harry hostage. Will Ruth give Lucas The Albany File in exchange for Harry's life. And if she does, can she face the consequences?


**The BBC owns all of these characters and Spooks. I hope you enjoy my 9.8 scenario.**

"Ruth," Lucas began warningly, voice husky, a slightly deranged gleam in his eye as he caught my gaze. I couldn't take my mind off the gun he held against Harry's head and I couldn't help but notice how calm we both were; standing on a roof top, pretending the gun and Harry did not exist for him or I at all.

"The Albany File for Harry's life."

"That would be treason."

"But you can give it to me. Only you and Malcolm and Harry know the access codes."

My face might as well have been made of plastic; immovable and emotionless. "That's talking treason Lucas and I would lose my job again, even face prison."

"Oh come, come Ruth. It's not the first time you've sacrificed yourself for Harry."

_And look what that sacrifice brought me Lucas. My old life was ripped from me and my new one destroyed. My false dream of peace and quiet was turned to nightmare. My partner was murdered in front of me live. I screamed that gun shot out of my mind, but it never went away. Not the shock, not the grief, not the guilt that clawed its way into my brain. Festering, it poisoned everything. I have become so cold. I have forgotten how to cry. I have become one of the living dead._

_See, I picked up career as the theme for living but it's not living life to the full and yet... who knows what is? Tell me Lucas, can you tell me what is? _

"Ruth?"

_And I have fallen into a memory. Harry has taken me to see a musical. He thinks it will be better to take me to something commercial because there's more to mock and more to sing and lots to cheesily love. Especially when it's an Andrew Lloyd Webber show stopper._

_"For someone who made his money out of being labelled a bit of a hack, he did get some musicals right."_

_"Yeah- but only because Tim Rice got involved."_

_At Harry's forlorn expression I add, "You did well Harry. I actually like Jesus Christ Superstar."_

_He had his anxious, desperate to please expression on. He'd be lucky to watch any of the show because he'd be watching me. He sees me now as a breakable doll, and he's never quite sure when the rough kid will come along and pull that doll's head off and smash its body against the floor._

_He's wrong about breakable though. Mary Magdalene is singing. "Everything's alright, yes, everything's fine. And we want you to sleep well tonight, let the world turn without you tonight." Only, when you're in MI5 the world can't and the web that is a human relationship falls apart because duty always beats love in the figurative rock, paper, scissors that we play._

_'If we try, we'll get by so forget all about us tonight..." Wrong Mary Magdalene. Wrong. I thought in Cyprus the world would have to forget Ms Ruth Evershed. Surely, I was never that important. Succeeding at your job is one thing, but recognition of invaluableness? Not so easily gained. We tried and it didn't get us anywhere Mary and so you are wrong but the old maxim of "Elephants can remember," that at least is true._

"Ruth! I'm waiting."

"And I'm thinking Lucas!" Lucas' hand tightens against the gun. Harry has shut his eyes tight. He thinks he is as good as dead. There's a war within me for a second; do I get my revenge and pick duty? But the moment passes because unlike Harry I could never live with that choice. "You win Lucas. I will go down to the computers and send the file to your mobile."

"No! I'm coming with you. I don't trust you alone, Ruth. Too smart for your own good. Harry can come too, just in case your resolve weakens."

"You're in control," I hear myself say dully.

We walk down MI5's corridors of power side by side. Anyone would think us the best of friends, but for the gun held between us and the raggedly breathing middle aged man dragged upright by the two of us, his leg hanging uselessly beneath him.

"Harry," I want to say. I want to touch his chest and feel his heart beating and put my mouth against his neck, his mouth. "Harry," I need to say, "Harry, I love you." But there is never enough time and it is never the right moment.

_I remember a drink we had last year, a short time after I'd buried George. I went back to his house and my cats were there and Fidget, Fidget hissed at me and I cried because my own cat no longer wanted to know me; or worse still had forgotten his Mistress._

_Harry felt bad so Harry made me a cocktail. It was creamy and delicious. I still can see myself putting the blue cocktail glass down on the coffee table and lying back on the coach with Harry leaning back, tangled into me. My desperate mouth sought his out and I was clawing my fingers into him. There was moaning and desire, but it felt wrong._

_And then Harry mentioned Nico. I picked up the cocktail glass and threw it against the wall. It shattered. Harry blinked once, blinked twice. He asked me if I wanted to talk. The mask came down with my blue shirt and I would not, could not let him in. His arms were around me and I cried but the mobile rang and the world needed saving for another day, and the safety of the billions was worth more to him than me..._

I type in the security code and The Albany File is before me. One click and I will have betrayed everything I believe in, everything I stand for. And Harry too. But if I don't click, I have given up on love. Call me a sook, but I believed Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge! Besides I am tired and I suspect Harry grows tired too. Ros was one friend to many in this game.

So I stand there. I let Lucas see that I have the file up on the screen and I click. In a flash everything changes as I sell my happiness once more for love...

There's a beep, beep. Lucas has the file on his phone. There are a dreadfully slow couple of minutes as he painstakingly checks it. Lucas studies my face. He has a big, stupid, relieved grin on his face. He is no longer trapped.

"Good girl, Ruth. I knew I could count on you." He drops Harry to the ground and Harry grunts in pain, semi conscious. Lucas backs away from me, still brandishing the gun.

"Tariq. Dimitri. Beth," I say calmly, "let him go. Let him get away. It is finished." I don't look at Lucas anymore. I drop to my knees and cradle Harry's head in my arms. Beth has already called an ambulance. The three of them stare at me, judging, but then they look from me to Harry, deliberate for a moment, and then turn away.

I whisper sweet nothings into Harry's ear. There is no one but him to hear me.

* * *

"Ruth, the Home Secretary wants to see you. Needless to say, I shall be accompanying."

Harry wears a grave expression and I know what is to come. The time had come for consequences. To my surprise Harry walks over and takes my hand in his own. He is making things harder for himself because soon he will have to say goodbye.

In the Home Secretary's office, he does the same. The officious Home Secretary has a file on his desk. My file. _Employment terminated._ "Look Ruth," he begins, "it's a crying shame because you're good at your job- some would even say too good, but the truth of the matter is you're a liability. You're easy to read and everyone can see that you and Harry are in love. They know that you can be used against him, he against you. We've got to let one of you go. Harry is too valuable, so it falls to you."

I have shed all of the useless tears I am going to shed. "I am sorry you feel this way Home Secretary," I begin to say.

Harry stands up. "As am I."

The Home Secretary splutters. "Now, now Harry. We've aready discussed how this meeting is going to go..."

Harry shook his head and I sit shocked. "I've had enough," Harry says, "I've seen enough. It's time for new blood in the Service. My days here are over. I am tired of it all. Besides," he adds slyly, looking at me, "I've already bought my retirement cottage in Suffolk and there's still a certain lady missing from it."

And now I am crying and laughing all at once because I never thought, never truly believed that Sir Harry Pearce, former head of Section D, MI5, could see the point of picking love.

We forget the Home Secretary is in the room. Harry takes a hand, kisses it. "Ruth Evershed, will you marry me?"

A tear falls on his hand, on my hand. "Yes."

He asks again. "Ruth, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I say. "Yes, yes, yes."


End file.
